


Epilogues of the POW Avengers

by Punny_Puck



Series: POW Avengers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Great Escape (1963), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Epilogues, I Hope This Ties Up Any Loose Ends, Multi, POW Camp, WWII, Where are they now?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punny_Puck/pseuds/Punny_Puck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Puck tries to tie up loose ends from her POW Avengers verse with three epilogues:  <br/>1. Justin Hammer's fate<br/>2. A party at Stark Tower<br/>3. Loki gets an unexpected visitor</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whatever Happened to Justin Hammer?

Justin Hammer smiled when he heard the sound of klaxons blare around the camp.  While all of the other prisoners jumped out of bed, going to the shuttered windows to peer out at the floodlight-lit courtyard, he leaned back in his bunk with a grin. 

It seemed the Kommandant had taken his advice after all and stationed guards at the opening of the tunnel.  Those stuck-up glorified rabbits would get what was coming to them, humiliating a Hammer. 

Justin had built those tunnels.  He’d been there from the beginning, drawing up the blueprints, designing the air pumps, motivating the diggers.  Without him, those tunnels would never have gotten further than the topsoil.

And then Tony Stark got to swan in on his high horse and take all the credit.  Sure the electric lights were flashy, and the air pumps twice as powerful, but they’d been getting by fine with candles.  And it wasn’t fair to compare Justin to Tony _Stark_. Tony Stark, darling of the jetset, toast of Park Avenue, son of genius engineer, Howard Stark.  Justin’s father had a coal miner who’d barely been able to send Justin to any school.  Stark had been silver-spoon-fed knowledge from the greatest minds in the world.  If Justin had had that chance, he’d be just as brilliant.  If not more so.  And Justin certainly wouldn’t have an ego the size of an elephant like Stark did. 

Why, they’d even had the nerve to kick him off the escapee list.  They were _his_ tunnels.  _His._ This was down and out _theft_. 

He’d been justified in going to the Kommandant.  He couldn’t let his tunnels go without a fight.  He was a Hammer.  Hammers didn’t roll over and show their bellies at the first sign of trouble.  No, they fought back. 

There was a smile on Justin’s face when he fell back to sleep that night.

***

Justin was certainly _not_ smiling when he was awakened the next morning by a pugnacious guard wielding a lethal looking baton.

“Aufstehen,” the guard ordered. 

Justin frowned.  That was just rude.  And after he’d been nothing but courteous to them.

At his hesitation, the guard poked him hard with the baton. 

“Aufstehen,” The guard said again, his eyes narrowing. 

_Oh,_ thought Justin.  _I get it.  He doesn’t want it to look like I’ve helped them.  That’s so thoughtful._

Justin smiled conspiratorially and stood, letting himself be led to the Kommandant’s office. 

At the door to the office, he nodded dismissively to the guard, who ignored him utterly and pushed Justin bodily into the office before him.

“Ah, Herr Hammer,” the Kommandant said easily.  “I do believe we should have a discussion, do you not?”

***

Bruce sat awkwardly outside the Kommandant’s office.  He had, through no action of his own, somehow become the unofficial advocate for all the prisoners in Stalag III.  He nodded a greeting to Margrit—no, Maria.  Peter had told him of her status as an agent shortly before they left.  Bruce was not entirely sure what he did to merit such information, but he was glad to be kept in the loop.

That gave him an idea, though.  Maybe Margrit—Maria would know what he was doing here this early.  Bruce assumed it had something to do with the escape, but surely the Kommandant wouldn’t need to speak to him about that.  Bruce was usually only called in when the Kommandant was not entirely sure what the best way to proceed would be.

“Margrit,” Bruce said, and Maria paused in her typing long enough to give him a look over her reading glasses.  “What am I doing here?”

“That is rather too existential a question for so early in the morning Herr Banner,” Maria said wryly, finishing her sentence on the typewriter. “Ask again after lunch.”

Bruce smiled.  He’d like Margrit even before she was Maria.  She was tough enough to stare down prisoners and guards alike, and still willing to crack wry jokes with him when he waited in her office. 

“I mean in the Kommandant’s office.  Why did he call me?” 

“Ah,” Maria said, sitting back from her desk.  “You are doubtless aware of the escape last night?”  Bruce nodded.  “Well, it seems that one of your people let the Kommandant know it was going to happen.”

Bruce’s eyebrows rose.  “No,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said. “But I would not worry, though.” She turned back to her typing.

Bruce frowned.  “Why not?”

“Well, it seems the traitor must have gotten cold feet at the last second, or perhaps attempted a triple cross, because several of the Kommandant’s men were injured quite severely by someone presumed to be aiding the escape.  It seems the informant also informed the prisoners.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, why would anyone—“  Bruce shut his mouth with a click.  Of course no one would do such a thing.  Maria was covering for her own involvement by laying blame on the rat.  Making him unreliable in the eyes of the Kommandant whilst simultaneously covering her own hide.  It was really quite clever.

She gave him a sharp, proud smile, and went back to typing.

After a moment Bruce said, “That would put the prisoner in a difficult situation.”

Maria looked up from the form she was filling in.  “I suppose so,” she said, not sounding sympathetic in the least.

“They would be trapped with two legions of angry men with no escape.”

Maria looked at him quizzically.  She obviously did not see the problem with that.  To be honest, Bruce almost wanted whoever it was to be torn apart by the Nazis or prisoners—or more likely, both in turn—but he was supposed to be a doctor.  A leader, almost.  It would be wrong to throw the rat to the wolves.

“What do you propose?” Maria asked, pushing her eyeglasses up to rest on the top of her head.  “He has made his bed, he should lay in it.”

Bruce shrugged.  “I don’t know, blood sport was never my thing.”

Maria looked at him, unimpressed.  “I will not compromise my cover to help a traitor,” she stated, her voice low against any potential eavesdroppers.  “I do not care how soft-hearted you are.”

Bruce held up his hands and lowered his own voice.  “First of all, I don’t want you to compromise anything.  And secondly, this is not soft-heartedness.  I loathe the idea that anyone could do this.  But I don’t want this situation to devolve into bloodshed.” 

“Then we are back to my original question:  What do you propose?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know.  Throw him in the cooler until a peace treaty is signed?  Or he dies of old age, whichever comes first.”

Maria did not look convinced.  “That is not justice.”

Bruce nodded.  “I am aware.  But neither would be turning him loose in a den of vipers. I think we can do better than brutality and worse than justice, don’t you?”

Maria gazed at him for a long time.  “I suppose that could be acceptable,” she said. 

Bruce nodded.  She wouldn’t help but she wouldn’t interfere.  That would have to work.

***

Bruce sighed when he was finally allowed into the Kommandant’s office.  Justin Hammer was lying in a pitiful heap on the floor, looking very much beaten to hell.  Bruce should have known it was Justin who gave away the escape.  The man had an ego the size of the Chrysler building and a brain the size of a pea.  This was just Hammer’s kind of stupid.

The Kommandant nodded politely to Bruce.  “Doctor,” He said, waving the other guards out of the office.  “How are you?”

Bruce wanted to roll his eyes at the forced nonchalance in Kuntz’ voice.  Instead, he said, “Very well, thank you.  May I?” He indicated Hammer, still moaning pathetically. 

The Kommandant waved his hand dismissively.  “As you will.”

Bruce crouched next to Hammer, looking him over.  It didn’t look like he had any serious injuries.  Just a few bruises and maybe a broken ankle.  Hammer whimpered when Bruce prodded it, but Bruce ignored him.

The Kommandant watched dispassionately.  “I have a mind to shoot him,” he said offhandedly, ignoring the little yelp of fear his words provoked from Hammer.  “Do not waste any bandages on him.”

Bruce stood and crossed his arms over his chest.  He was distinctly uncomfortable with this situation.  He did not like Hammer.  He did, in fact, think the man was a nasty weasel of a human being, and did not want to associate with him at all, let alone side with him.  But there was that stubborn moral part of him that never closed its mouth shouting at the top of its lungs that he couldn’t just abandon someone to die.  It had something to do with the Hippocratic Oath he hadn’t actually made.

“Why are you going to shoot him?” Bruce asked. 

The Kommandant cocked his head to the side.  “I _could_ throw him to his fellow prisoners,” he said, considering.  “But an execution seems less messy.”

Bruce shrugged. “I suppose you could,” he said, ignoring Hammer’s panicked noises.  “But I never pictured you as that type of man.”

The Kommandant raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “ _What_ kind of man?”

Bruce shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner.  He was really not good at this type of thing.  “The kind that breaks an honorable agreement between men.”

The Kommandant laughed.  “That,” he said, nodding at Hammer, “Is not a man.”

Bruce shrugged again.  “That’s not what I meant.”

The Kommandant gave Bruce a questioning look and he continued.  “I meant the Geneva convention.  If you shoot him without a trial, you’d be violating an agreement made between Nazi Germany, your Fuhrer, and the United States.  Now that _was_ a gentleman’s agreement.” 

Bruce allowed himself to glance over at the picture of Hitler on the wall.  The Kommandant followed his gaze.  There was a moment of silence as the Kommandant made his decision.

“I suppose it would be best to comply with the convention,” he said finally.  Bruce could hear Hammer’s gusty exhale of relief. 

“But,” the Kommandant continued regardless, “I cannot allow this to go unpunished.”

There was a sort of pitiful sad sound from the floor.  Both Bruce and the Kommandant ignored it.

“You could convene a court,” Bruce suggested.  It would do very little for Hammer except delay his execution, but at least Bruce would feel it was justice rather than murder.

The Kommandant shook his head dismissively. “I will not explain to my superiors that my men were acting on the word of a traitorous prisoner.  I would be laughed out of the camp and all the way to the Eastern front.”

“Well you can’t just put him back in general quarters.  He’d be murdered and there’d be an even bigger investigation.”

The Kommandant scowled.  “A fair point,” he said. 

“How about,” Bruce tried.  “How about you just throw him in the cooler.  Solitary confinement is a punishment, he’s safe, and it’s not like you don’t have the space with that huge cooler you have now.”

The Kommandant nodded slowly.  “I suppose that is acceptable,” the Kommandant said, sounding reluctant.  “But surely you would not be satisfied with that?”

Bruce shrugged.  “I’d be less satisfied with the alternative.”

The Kommandant walked to the door and instructed the guards to escort Hammer to the cooler for an indefinite amount of time.  Maria caught his eye and gave him a look that could be approving or not.  She was too difficult to read.

The Kommandant turned back to Bruce.  “Care for a game of chess?” he asked.

Bruce nodded, because this was apparently his life and the Kommandant went to set up the board.

***

Justin sniffled in his cell in the cooler.  It wasn’t fair.  He hadn’t done anything to the Nazis. He hadn’t known there was going to be someone outside the camp to protect the tunnel.  But the Kommandant hadn’t believed him at all.  It just wasn’t fair.

And now he was going to spend the rest of the war locked in the cooler because stupid Banner couldn’t talk the Kommandant into letting Justin go entirely.  Justin was truly a victim of some sort of cruel twist of fate, he thought, curling up in the damp cooler.  It just wasn’t fair.


	2. A Warm Light for All Mankind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony unveils Stark Tower in the usual Tony custom: A huge party

Manhattan, 1947

“We’re gonna be late!” Mary-Jane called from downstairs.  “If we miss it because you were primping—“

Peter thundered down the stairs, his bowtie still loose around his neck and his hair a tousled mess.

“Coming, coming,” he said, trying to smooth down his hair and tie his tie at the same time.  It didn’t work. 

Mary-Jane tugged on his elbow.  “We can fix it in the taxi,” she said, and he could tell she was trying not to smile.  “Come on, Tiger.”

Peter let himself be dragged to the taxi-cab waiting at the curb.  The driver did a double take when he saw Peter in his rented tuxedo and Mary-Jane in her borrowed evening gown.  They looked terribly out of place in their neighborhood.  Peter caught a glimpse of more than one curtain being drawn aside to stare at them.

The cabbie opened the door for Mary-Jane, who grinned at the swankiness of it. Peter grinned too, slipping into the seat beside her. 

“Where to?” the driver asked, getting behind the wheel.  “You kids tying the knot or something?”

Peter felt his face heat up.  “Stark Tower,” he said, decidedly not glancing at Mary-Jane. 

The cabbie’s eyebrows rose in the rear-view mirror as he pulled out into traffic.  “Stark Tower?” He repeated. 

Peter nodded firmly, compulsively checking the inside pocket of his jacket for the tickets. 

Stark had made good on his promise to cut weapons production at Stark Industries after the war.  Their new focus was energy, and they were taking huge strides in cleaner, more renewable power, as well as coming out with new and exciting gadgets for the home and business. 

As for the tesseract, Peter was not entirely sure if it was completely responsible for the great strides Stark Industries was making.  He’d only known Tony for a few months, but he did not doubt that the man could have easily made such advancements independently.

The event tonight, though, Peter was almost sure could be traced back to the tesseract. 

In February of last year, Stark Industries had announced plans to build a national headquarters for their company in New York City.  And, since it was Tony Stark, it was going to be a skyscraper to rival the Empire State Building. 

But more impressive than the change to New York City’s skyline was the news that the building was going to be completely independent of New York’s power grids, and would instead be generating its own power with an innovative new reactor that not only was less volatile than nuclear reactors by eighty percent, but also was completely renewable.

Now, almost two years later, the Tower was set to be unveiled, the lights switched on in and the reactor christened.  And of course, as it was _Stark_ Tower, there was to be a huge party. 

Peter had been surprised to find the invitation in the mail earlier that month, its fancy gold scrolling looking rather out-of-place amongst the humdrum bills and paychecks.  He certainly wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like this one, though, so M.J. had borrowed a gown from a neighbor and Peter had shelled out two week’s salary at the Bugle for his tux, and they were going to live the highlife for a night before returning home to Aunt May.

Looking over at Mary-Jane, delighted and just a little bit smug in her peach-colored dress and mother’s pearls, he thought it was worth it, even if they did have to go back to real life in the morning.  Mary-Jane looked exquisite with the lights of the city reflecting in her eyes.

“We’re almost there,” she said, sitting up quickly, and grinning at him like a kid on the way to the circus.  Mary-Jane bounced a little in her seat. 

Peter grinned back and took her hand.  On the spur of the moment, he leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. 

“What was that for?” she asked, puzzled but smiling. 

Peter shrugged.  “You just looked so pretty,” he said, feeling his ears going hot. 

Mary-Jane’s smile lost its bemusement and gained something more mischievous. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, returning the kiss.

***

They weren’t late to the party, thankfully.  They were, however, a bit completely lost. 

They found the tower alright—it was awful hard to miss—but once they had presented their invitation and were beckoned into a huge hall filled with people dancing or eating, or just standing around looking bored, they didn’t quite know what to do.

Everything was just so…new.  Peter was almost afraid to walk on the shiny floor in case he scuffed it.  All the fixtures were modern chrome, polished to a shine, the floors almost perfectly white marble.  The walls were almost all glass, and completely transparent.  Not a smudge to be seen.

The people were even more intimidating.  They were not just a few bigwigs from the company and maybe some family friends of the Starks.  Peter thought he saw the mayor in the corner.  And was that Gary Cooper over by the buffet?

Mary-Jane seemed a bit overwhelmed as well.  She smiled at him nervously.  Peter gave her his best reassuring smile. 

“Too late to turn yellow?” he asked in a whisper.

“You’re not the type, mister,” she said back, nudging him with her hip.

He grinned and they ventured into the crowd. 

***

After the third person they’d talked too turned up her prissy, aristocratic nose, Peter was beginning to feel he should have stayed home.  A night spent sitting on the roof with bottles of pop and listening to the radio on might be a bit mundane, but at least he wasn’t being mistaken for a waiter or subtly insulted for his rented suit. 

Mary-Jane looked miserable as well.  Her face had lost the glow of excitement, and she looked like she’d much rather be boiled in lava than here, listening to these terrible people.  She was staring at the floor rather determinedly and picking at the hem of her elbow-length gloves.

“You’re a _journalist?”_ their current conversation partner said, making it sound like he was a disgusting and possibly venomous insect rather than a news-writer.

Peter gave a large false smile and was about to whisk Mary-Jane away to catch a taxi and maybe just go to the movies so at least she could have a night out, when he heard a shout behind him.

“Peter!” Tony Stark himself came striding through the crowd, straight toward Peter and Mary-Jane.  The woman with the prissy nose gaped as Tony pulled Peter into a hug that lifted him a good foot off the ground.

“How you doing?  I hoped you’d come,” he said, grinning.  “And you must be Miss Mary-Jane Watson.” Tony bent over and pressed his lips to her hand and Peter could have kissed him because she lit up like a Christmas tree.  “You look lovely,” he said, smiling at her.

She thanked him shyly, retracting her hand.

The prissy nosed lady looked a bit put out that she hadn’t been acknowledged—she was probably someone quite rich since she was here—and she smiled in what was probably meant to be ingratiating but actually looked quite nauseous.

“Excuse me—“ she started.

“You’re excused,” Tony said, nodding dismissively to her before slipping one arm over Peter’s shoulders and the other around Mary-Jane’s waist and leading them away.

“Sorry about that,” Tony said as the crowd watched them curiously.  “The doormen were supposed to tell me when you got here, but apparently they didn’t get the memo.  The rest of us are over here.”

He led Peter and Mary-Jane to a large elevator.  The elevator operator seemed to know where they were going, because he didn’t wait for Tony to tell him the floor, just pulled the lever for the penthouse. 

“The rest of who?” Peter asked, managing to grab Mary-Jane’s hand again.  Tony smiled at him like he was an adorable puppy. 

“The gang.  The crew.  The fellas.”

Peter’s mouth fell open.  “Loki didn’t say anything about coming in his letters.”

“That is because Loki is harder to track down than you.  I couldn’t find hide nor hair of him until about a week ago.  I was just lucky enough he was going to be in the city today anyway.  Clint and Natasha got even less notice, since the only way I got their address was through Loki.”

“Who else is here?” Mary-Jane asked.  “I’ve heard about all of you guys, but I haven’t met any of you.”

Tony put on an exaggerated look of shock and appall.  “Peter!  How could you?”

Mary-Jane giggled behind her hand, and Peter didn’t feel chagrinned at all.

“Well, Miss Mary-Jane, Loki and Sif are here, as well as Clint and Natasha.  Steve’s here, with his beautiful and frightening wife, Peggy.  And Bruce lives here, so you know he came up. Thor was in the U.S. visiting his girlfriend, so he tagged along and brought her with.  Fury deigned to join us, thought I think it’s more to try to convince me to go back into weapons production than to celebrate. Coulson was deployed, so he couldn’t come, but Maria Hill made it. And Rhodey works here, so he _had_ to come, he was already in the building.  And then there’s Pepper and me.”

Mary-Jane looked delighted.  She was practically bouncing up and down again in the elevator.  “I get to meet Loki!” She said, grinning from ear to ear.

Tony looked put out.  “What about me? The host, the genius builder of the superb monolith in which you are currently being whisked to a private party.  Don’t I get some love?”

Mary-Jane patted Tony’s cheek condescendingly.  “Yes, but you’re not royalty.”

Tony tipped back his head and laughed.  He snapped his fingers.  “Always outclassed by the upper classes.  Darn it all to heck.”

Mary-Jane and Peter laughed along with him and the night suddenly looked much brighter.

***

The elevator dinged quietly and the elevator operator opened the steel cage door for them. 

The penthouse was decorated similarly to the first floor of the Tower, with lots of glass and shiny metal chrome.  But the penthouse was also more intimate and had hints of people actually residing there.  The furniture was modern, but looked lived-in, and there were touches of what Peter could only guess was Pepper Potts’ influence, because he was sure Tony didn’t know a Picasso from a Van Gogh and both were displayed prominently on the walls.

“Petey!” Clint called, catching sight of Peter, Mary-Jane, and Tony emerging from the elevator.  “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

He swept Peter into a hug.  “And you must be Mary-Jane, nice to meet you, I’m Clint Barton, and this is Natasha Romanova.”

Natasha approached in a more sedate manner, shaking their hands with a tiny smile on her face.  “Good to see you again, Peter.  Good to meet you, Mary-Jane.”

Peter smiled.  “You as well, Natasha.  And congratulations.”

Natasha followed his gaze down to the engagement ring on her finger.  “Thank you,” she said, and her smile grew ever so slightly.

“I hope it was romantic,” Peter said.

“Helluva romantic!” Clint said, slinging his arm around Natasha’s waist.  “I even had doves.”

“I think what you’ve had,” Natasha said, disentangling herself, “is enough to drink.”

Clint kissed her on the head.  “Probably.  Come on, Pete, M.J.  I’ll chaperone you two kids around.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as Clint led them further into the room. 

This party was smaller, but still crowded enough to easily get separated.  Peter held onto Mary-Jane’s hand as Clint led them through the press of people.

“Do you feel like a duckling?” Mary-Jane whispered into Peter’s ear.  “Because I definitely feel like a duckling.”

Peter laughed. “I’m definitely feeling a little fowl,” he whispered back.

Mary-Jane groaned at his joke, but she was grinning as well.

Clint paused at the buffet table to snag a few of the tiny food items there. He popped a pastry into his mouth and began pointing out people in the crowd.

“Who do you want to see first?” he asked.  “Steve’s on the balcony with his missus, looking at the lights.  I think Bruce and Thor’s gal pal are holed up somewhere talking science, and Thor’s probably with them, just smiling goofily at her. And Mary Hill and Fury are hobnobbing with the VIP’s.  So who do you want to see first?”

Peter punched Clint on the shoulder.  “Come on, Clint, where is he?”

Clint grinned.  “Come on,” he said, walking off down the hall next to the buffet table. 

He opened the last door on the right, leading Mary-Jane and Peter into a small library.  There, lounging in an armchair with a book on his lap was Loki. 

Loki looked up when the door opened, his face guilty for a moment before it cracked into a smile and he stood. 

“Peter,” he greeted, holding out a hand to shake. 

Peter took his hand and tugged him closer so he could hug him.  Loki stiffened for a moment, as he always seemed to, but then he squeezed back.

“It is good to see you,” he said quietly into Peter’s ear before pulling away.  Peter knew he didn’t imagine the sincerity in Loki’s voice.

Peter grinned at the older man.  He was dressed perfectly in a black tuxedo, his hair a bit longer and slicked back. He’d gained some weight and he looked healthier.  Like he actually slept at night and ate at meals. His hands, where they emerged from his jacket, were healed, but still looked bumpy and painful, but when he moved them he didn’t seem to have any difficulty.

Loki cleared his throat, and Peter realized he was waiting for an introduction. 

“Mary-Jane,” Peter said, “this is Lieutenant Loki Odinson.  Loki, meet Mary-Jane Watson, my, um—“

“Girlfriend,” Mary-Jane finished for him, smiling up at Loki.  She reached out and shook his hand gently.  “It’s very good to meet you at last.”

“Likewise,” Loki said.  “You are just as radiant as Peter described.”

Mary-Jane flushed.  “Thanks,” she said, glancing at Peter.  “Clint said that Mrs. Odinson was here as well?”

Loki looked confused for a moment.  “Oh, Sif,” he said.  “She is helping Miss Potts with her preparations.  They seem to have struck up a friendship.” Loki looked quite terrified by the prospect. 

“So you aren’t married?” Mary-Jane asked.  “I’m very sorry, I just thought you must be from all the stories.”

Loki was being to look a bit hunted.  “I—Stories?”

Mary-Jane nodded.  “Peter told me all about you and Sif’s star-crossed romance.”

Loki looked horrified.  “It is _not_ romance.”

Mary-Jane raised an eyebrow.  “No?  You weren’t in love and then pulled apart by misunderstanding and war, only to find that love conquers all?”

Loki was looking more terrified than he’d ever looked during the war, Clint was sniggering behind his hand, and Peter decided it was about time to rescue his friend. 

“So why are you hiding in here?” He asked. 

Loki’s face went back to guilty.  He shrugged.  “I thought I would avail myself of Stark’s library while I had the chance.  He has a number of very rare tomes I thought I would examine.”

Clint chuckled.  “ _’Tomes.’_   He’s hiding from Sif.  She’s been trying to get him to dance all night.”

Loki glared, but did not dispute the claim.

Peter grinned.  “Now, I’ve got to see that.”

Loki rubbed his face. “Heaven help me.”

***

From there the party only got better.  Peter introduced Mary-Jane to all of his friends from his time in Stalag III.  It was nice to catch up with them all.

Loki, he knew, was working as a professor at a college in Massechusetts, where he lived with Sif.  From their letters, he knew Loki enjoyed teaching both European politics and literature, and could be persuaded to go on long rambling talks concerning the history and ethics of espionage. 

Sif, Peter was beginning to warm up to.  She wrote letters whenever Loki got too busy with grading term papers to send his monthly correspondence.  She always included the things Loki seemed to forget, like that he had been awarded medals for his service in British Intelligence and he was a favorite amongst his students for his wry humor and cutting commentary. 

As for Sif herself, she was busy in her own job in the U.S. Marine Corps Women’s Reserve, lobbying for women to be allowed to serve in the military in times of peace as well as war.

Pepper Potts was everything she was rumored to be.  She was beautiful in an immaculately dressed, entirely put-together way that contrasted quite strongly with Tony’s somewhat slap-dash approach.  She had greeted Peter and Mary-Jane with a gracious smile, but Peter got the distinct impression that, if she wanted to, she could take apart anyone’s life from the inside out.

Tony was obviously stupidly in love with her, and Peter could see that it was returned, even if Pepper was a bit more reserved in her gestures of affection.

Thor, it seemed, was poised to take over the throne of Asgard soon, but seemed very reluctant considering Jane, his lovely American lady, had no interest in ruling.  Jane herself was an amazingly intelligent woman who, when she learned Peter was interested in physics and engineering, promised to lend him some of her own textbooks from college. 

Bruce hugged Peter as well.  It seemed when Tony had said that Bruce lived here, he didn’t just mean in the city.  Bruce was a resident of the tower, and apparently headed one of Tony’s charities, allowing him to continue helping people while he earned a medical license.  Peter couldn’t help but notice he kept throwing glances across the dance floor at a woman Clint called Betty.

Fury and Maria Hill had both nodded stoically at Peter.  He’d nodded back and gone back to the party.

Steve was married to an incredibly tough and beautiful English woman named Margaret Carter.  She and Sif seemed to have made friends and she was fighting the same fight in England that Sif was in the U.S.  She and Steve lived in London, where he taught art at elementary schools.

Rhodes shook Peter’s hand with a smile.  It seemed he was helping to manage Stark Industries’ Research and Development department, because in addition to being a thoroughly decent engineer, he also had the managing skills that Tony lacked. 

“I’d like to talk to you sometime,” Rhodes said.  “Tony’s got something he’s planning that I think you might be interested in.”

Peter didn’t get a chance to ask what it might be before Mary-Jane tugged him out onto the dance floor where he swirled her around like a whirling dervish.

After a few dances, Thor asked to cut in because it seemed that Jane did not dance and in any case, was too absorbed in a conversation about astrophysics with Bruce to be asked.

Peter gracefully bowed himself out for Mary-Jane to be swept into an enthusiastic waltz.   He went to stand by Loki, who was still avoiding Sif.

“You should just dance with her,” he said.  “She’s too stubborn to let it go.”

Loki shrugged.  “I can hope.”

Peter nodded.  “I suppose. How bad at you at dancing?”

Loki stiffened.  “I am competent.  I simply do not enjoy it.”

“Touchy,” Peter said, brushing Loki’s shoulder with his own.  “What was that thing about you and Sif getting married?”

Loki stiffened further until Peter gave him a look.  He slumped slightly. 

“I am unsure how to proceed,” he said, and Peter knew that every word was a blow to him.

Peter looked up at his old mentor.  Loki looked lost in a way that Peter could recognize.  He smiled. 

“Well,” he said, “An old friend of mine said that when you’re having trouble making plans, the first thing you have to do is to decide what you want.  So what do you want?”

Peter watched as Loki’s eyes immediately went to Sif in the corner of the room, where she was talking with Pepper Potts.  Loki looked back to Peter with a sort of pleading expression.

Peter shrugged.  “Well, if you want her, why don’t you marry her?”

“It is not that simple,” Loki said, looking defeated.

Peter frowned.  “Why not?”

“Even if I ask, who is to say that she will not say no?”

Peter couldn’t help it.  He laughed.  “Loki, seriously?  She’s not going to say no.  Just make an honest woman out of her before you drive yourself crazy with worry.”

Loki didn’t look convinced. 

“You should listen to him,” a voice said behind them.  Peter and Loki both jumped.  They turned to see Sif smiling like a wolf behind them.  How she got there so quickly and silently, Peter had no idea.  “Come on, lover, I want to dance,” she said, pulling Loki by the lapels. 

Loki looked whiplashed for a second, but then he smiled and allowed himself to be led out to the dance floor.

Peter watched as Loki and Sif performed a wild Asgardian dance that seemed to involve a maddening amount of dips and athletic twirls. 

Mary-Jane came up beside him after the song finished, taking his hand.  She was out of breath and flushed and looked more beautiful than anything the world could produce.  She smiled at him and he couldn’t help but smile back helplessly.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Your friends are wonderful,” she said happily.  “I want to be Pepper Potts when I grow up.”

Peter nodded sagely.  “Me too.”

***

At a quarter to midnight, all the lights dimmed in Stark Tower, except for a spot light held on Tony Stark.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, and Peter thought he could hear a sardonic tilt to those words.  “Boys and girls.  I thank all of you for coming on this momentous evening.  Tonight we unveil the pinnacle of Stark Industries’ latest developments in power and energy. 

“But what is more, we unveil the epitome of a new direction for Stark Industries as a company.” 

Tony paused, looking around the room.  “When I announced my plan to transition entirely out of weapons development, many people thought I had gone crazy in my time abroad.  I can’t deny those accusations, God knows we all saw the mental collapse coming sooner or later, but now I think we can all agree now that my madness is not of that sort.”

The crowd chuckled.

“Weapons are powerful, but energy _is_ power.  Weapons can only destroy, and I mean to _build_ something with this company.  And I’m going to do it with the clean, safe energy. 

“I want to live in a world where success is not who can push the most people down on their knees, it’s who can raise the most people up.”

Tony glanced around the room, seeming to catch everyone’s eye.

“This building, Stark Tower, is just the beginning.  Once we’ve perfected the ARC reactor in this building, I plan to have one in every major city in the world, where they will continue to make enough safe, renewable energy to sustain the population of those cities for up to ten years without degrading and or the threat of nuclear meltdown. 

“We are building the future here, ladies and gentlemen.  So I ask you to raise your glasses to the future.”

“To the future,” the crowd echoed, clinking glasses together. 

Tony nodded towards Rhodes, who was on the phone.   

“And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Light her up, Rhodey.”

Rhodes murmured something into the receiver and the Tower sparkled to life, the lights returning to full power and shining out on the world.

“A warm light for all mankind,” Loki whispered, just barely audible.

“Womankind, too,” whispered Sif back, “if Pepper has anything to say about it.

***

The party was beginning to wind down. 

Steve and Peggy had left hours before, just after Tony’s speech.  They had an early flight back to England and they didn’t want to miss it in a hangover haze.

Bruce had disappeared sometime earlier as well, along with Betty.

Natasha had already poured Clint into a cab and departed, kissing Peter on the cheek and smiling a genuine smile at Mary-Jane.  Thor and Jane were collapsed together on one of the four couches in the penthouse, Thor snoring loudly and Jane mumbling equations in her sleep. 

Pepper and Tony were taking up another, Pepper’s feet in Tony’s lap. 

Peter and Mary-Jane were perched on the third, with Loki and Sif taking up the fourth.

Loki and Sif were trying to have a quiet conversation, and everyone else was trying they weren’t obviously eavesdropping.

Rhodes emerged from where he’d been ushering the last of the other guests out of the building and collapsed into an armchair.

“All the lingerers are out except these guys,” Rhodes said, gesturing to the rest of the room.  “I’m going home to bed.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” Sif said, dragging Loki up.  Whatever they’d talked about seemed to be resolved, and they seemed eager for privacy. 

“Come see us before you leave the city,” Peter yelled at their retreating backs as they made for the elevator.

Loki waved an acknowledgement and they were gone. 

Mary-Jane yawned widely.  “I guess we should be going, too,” she said.  “It was a wonderful party.”

Peter nodded.  “Thanks so much for having us.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively.  “No need for thanks, Petey.  You’re part of the reason this place exists.  It was the least I could do to invite you to see it.  Speaking of, Rhodey did you talk to Pete about the thing with the thing?”

Rhodes—who might have been asleep—grumbled something like, “Ask him your own damn self.”

Tony threw a pillow at him and turned to Peter.  “Ignore him, he’s been awake for forty-eight hours and just doesn’t know how to handle it.  But I was thinking, well, are you still interested in engineering?”

Peter shrugged awkwardly.  He did love engineering—tinkering with radios and cars had always been his favorite hobby—but he’d dropped out of high school to join the Army, and Aunt May needed him at the house, and between that and his job at the Bugle he just didn’t have the time or resources to go back to school. 

Mary-Jane squeezed his arm and gave him a stern look. “He loves engineering, Mr. Stark,” she said, “He just hasn’t had the time to do anything really lately.”

“Call me Tony,” Tony said easily.  “And that just won’t do.  I was thinking that maybe we could help with that.  I could always use good engineers here, and I’d be willing to pay for you to go through with your training, while you work here.”

Peter blinked.  “You’re offering me a job and to pay for college?” he asked.  “It’s very generous, but—“

“No, it really isn’t,” Pepper cut him off before he could continue. She sat up and pulled her bare feet out of Tony’s hands.  Even with her hair slightly askew and her impressive heels kicked to one side, she looked intimidating.  “Listen, Peter.  I don’t know what you know about this company, but I can tell you I deal with the business and Tony deals with the product.  We’re both very good with our jobs, but let’s just say I have a Research and Development team that is admittedly brilliant, but somewhat…erratic.  Rhodey’s been doing what he can but, as you can see, he’s only one man.  If you come on, you’d be corralling Tony into working regular hours and eating meals.  I can only assume you know how difficult that can be. 

“This is not charity.  It is a job, and a tough one.  You can take it or not.”

Peter nodded, feeling a little stunned.  “I accept,” he said.

Pepper nodded back and laid back down in the couch, putting her feet up.  “Good,” she said simply, and closed her eyes. 

Peter and Mary-Jane shared a look. 

“I am _so_ going to be her when I grow up,” Mary-Jane whispered.

Tony laughed and stood.  “I’m glad that that’s settled.  You start work Monday, Parker.  Don’t be early.  I can’t stand morning people.”

***

Peter and Mary-Jane got out of the taxi-cab in front of their neighboring houses around two in the morning.

“So,” Peter said, still feeling a bit shocked from the job offer. 

“So,” said Mary-Jane, smiling up at him.

“You, uh, looked wonderful tonight.  Not that you don’t always, but, uh, you looked like a movie star,” Peter said.  He could feel his ears heating up. 

“Thanks,” Mary-Jane said.  “It was a great night.” 

Peter nodded, and before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Mary-Jane’s lips. 

“Uh,” he said eloquently, “Good night, Mary-Jane Watson.”

Mary-Jane smiled.  “Good night, Peter Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. An Old Man Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki receives a visitor late at night when Sif is away.

December 1954: Massachusetts

Loki was grading papers in his armchair, the radio playing softly in the background, and if he saw another misplaced comma, he was going to move to Cape Cod and become a fisherman.  He pushed up his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. 

Sif was in New York on business and took little Helen with her.  Loki would have liked to join them, but there are too many papers to grade with too soon a deadline.  He would have to settle for joining them in a week, when they would go Christmas shopping and take Helen ice skating and visit with Peter, Mary-Jane, and Mrs. Parker and probably run into Stark as well as there was no avoiding him in New York City, it seemed. 

For the time being, he was alternately enjoying and loathing the quiet of the little house.  He did not miss Helen’s screams or tantrums, and he did enjoy having time to himself, but the house felt so cold without his ladies filling it up.   

Loki reached into his desk drawer and fished out a bottle of whiskey.  He did not drink often anymore, and rarely alone.  Once in a while one of his colleagues at the university would invite him out for drinks and he would join them.  But he did not wish to be a drunkard and retreating into drink always smacked of cowardice to him, even as he was doing it.

He poured two fingers of whiskey into his coffee mug anyway, because the night was cold and his house was empty. 

He took a sip of the whiskey, grimacing at the taste of coffee grounds that must have been left in the mug before.  He took another sip regardless and turned back to his term papers.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he heard a knock on the door.  Loki looked at his wristwatch.  It was nearly midnight.  Who would be knocking at this time of night?  Loki switched off the radio and retrieved his revolver (a small gun that he could still barely aim with his mangled hands) from the desk drawer, slipping it into his trouser pocket. 

He walked silently to the door, his hand on the butt of the gun the entire way. 

Loki took a deep breath and opened the door suddenly to reveal a figure standing on the porch, a hooded silhouette against the ash tree in the front yard.  Loki’s hand tightened on the gun as the figure reached up to push back the hood of the anorak to reveal— 

“Is there any room at your fire for an old man?” Odin asked.

Loki stared at the man he’d called father for twenty years, his shock leaving him frozen in the doorway staring at the All-father. “Old man” was an apt description.  Odin looked like he had aged fifty years since Loki left Asgard.  His face was grooved with wrinkles, his eyes tired, his limbs heavy.  He still carried himself like a king, though, and he stood on Loki’s stoop like it was the balcony over a crowd of commoners. 

Loki nodded mutely, gesturing Odin into the entryway.  Odin stomped the snow off his boots before stepping into the entryway and looking around. 

Sif had decorated the small entryway with dozens of photographs of Helen, chronicling every milestone from birth to her fifth and most current birthday.

It made Loki uncomfortable to see Odin examining the pictures of the grandchild he’d never met, so he ushered the All-father to the sitting room, taking his anorak and hanging it up on the coat rack by the door and going to the kitchen to make tea.

As the kettle boiled, Loki valiantly tried to keep calm.  He had not seen his foster-father since the day he’d attempted suicide. He was sure Odin had been informed of the events in his life—Loki wrote Frigga regularly and Thor visited on his way to meet with Jane and Loki doubted they were secretive about what he told them—but he had not had direct contact with the man for over ten years.  He had, quite frankly, not expected to see Odin ever again, let alone here, in his tiny Massachusetts cottage.

It was quite surreal to see a man so inherently linked to Asgard  in Loki’s mind out of that environment.  Odin had looked somehow diminished without his ceremonial clothes and golden jewelry.  In an anorak, he looked like any other man Loki might meet on the street. He even looked shorter, but that could have been the step up from the porch to the door of the house.

The kettle screamed and Loki poured the water over the teabags, dumping rather too much sugar into his own and only splashing some milk into Odin’s.  He took a deep breath before taking the mugs into the sitting room where Odin was waiting.

The All-father was standing near the fire, examining the various objects that adorned the mantelpiece. He held up a medal still in its box. 

“Did the British give you this?” He asked.  Loki glanced at the box. 

“Yes,” Loki said, handing Odin his mug.  “Sif’s are on the right.”

Odin nodded, sipping his tea.  After VE day, British Intelligence had decided that having a foreigner in the ranks, while fine during war, was less necessary during peace times, especially when said agent could barely lift a gun.  So they’d awarded Loki with a number of rather tacky medals and sent him on his way.  Sif hadn’t let him bin them in a fit of bitterness, and they sat side by side with the medals she was awarded as a member of first the ATS in Britain, and now as a member of the  Marine Corps Women’s Reserve for teaching women combat strategy and self-defense.

Odin held up a small tin medal that was in the center.  “And this one?”

“Helen’s.  Perfect attendance at Kindergarten.”  Loki took a sip of tea.  Helen had insisted on putting her little medal on the mantle with the others, refusing to keep it in her little jewelry box, or hang in her bedroom.  She’d been so proud to lay it there beside the others, her chest puffed out proudly, running around the house with a smug little grin on her face like the cat that got the cream.

“The first of many, I am sure,” Odin said quietly, turning around to face Loki for the first time.  Loki felt Odin’s single eye rake up and down him, that same evaluating stare he remembered from his childhood.  The one that seemed to see every tiny flaw and weakness and disapprove mightily. 

After a moment, Odin stepped forward quickly, and before Loki could react, he found himself pulled into an embrace, achingly gentle, as if Odin were afraid Loki might break if he squeezed any tighter.  He felt Odin’s hand automatically cradle the back of his head, like Loki had been instructed to do when Helen was a baby, and he was suddenly hugging back, harder and fiercer than Odin had. 

Loki had not known he missed his foster-father until that moment. 

Frigga, he missed often, though she tried to visit as often as her duties allowed.  Every time he had an argument with Sif, every time Helen slammed a door he wished he could go to his mother and ask what on earth he was supposed to do.

Odin, though, he had not known he missed.  Loki’s feelings about Odin were tangled up with too many other messy childhood triumphs and resentments for Loki to completely extract and examine.  He sometimes tried, late at night when he could not sleep and the moon was too bright in the window.  He would replay his oldest memories, and newer ones as well, and in the morning, when he was exhausted after a sleepless night, he would still have no answers. 

He sometimes resented that.  Most usually in the time between the sleepless night and a cup of coffee.  He resented that Odin refused to simply play the villain in Loki’s life.  It would be so much easier to write Odin off as an evil and conniving old man that cared not a lick for his adoptive son and discarded him like the chess piece he so obviously was. 

But Odin was not simply the villain.  He was also Loki’s eternal rescuer, the father he’d never truly had, and the king he had not always loved, but forever respected.  And Loki could not hate him.  But nor could he love him.  So he ignored the continued existence of his foster father as best as he could until the man showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night.

After a few moments, Odin gently pulled away, running a calloused finger under Loki’s eyes to wipe away the tears he hadn’t known he’d shed. 

“Oh, Loki,” Odin said, and he sounded older and more tired than Loki had ever heard him.  “I am sorry.”

It was, strangely, the apology that allowed Loki to pull himself together, wiping his face on his sleeve and taking a step back, away from his foster-father.

“No.” he said, proud that his voice did not waver. 

“No?” Odin asked, his eyebrow cocked. 

“No,” Loki repeated, firmer.  More definitive.  “That is not enough.  You do not just get to apologize and leave it at that.  I want an explanation.”

The corner of Odin’s mouth twitched up in almost a smile before settling back into a serious expression. 

“Of course,” he said.  “Of course.”

He looked around the room for a moment before sitting down on the sofa.  Loki sat as well, taking the arm chair closest to his foster-father.  Odin took a long drink of tea, like he was almost readying himself before putting the mug down on the coffee table.  He seemed to be searching for a place to start. 

“I suppose it begins with your,” Odin cleared his throat painfully, “with your death.”

Loki shook his head, trying to ignore the look of obvious pain on Odin’s face.  “No.  I would say the opposite.”

The All-father nodded at that.  “Yes,” he said.  “I suppose you are right.”

Odin leaned forward slightly in his seat, a painful posture for him, Loki knew, but his foster-father did not seem to notice. 

“You must understand,” he said slowly.  “You have been to war, and you have seen true combat.  And you must understand that when Asgardians sing of war, they do not know what it is, truly.  They see it as a glorious, honorable thing when it is anything but.  And I should have known that, at my age.  I had been on the throne for fifteen years, and I should have known better.  But still I rushed into that war on the heat of passion and was confronted with the truth: that war is just brutality with a better reputation.

“I saw people, men I had known since childhood, killed in the most horrible ways imaginable on my orders.  I saw my people fall in droves to the guns and the gas and I was sure many times that it was the end of days and I had ushered it into existence with my arrogance.

“And even when the tide turned and victory looked imminent, they were still dying, even as we were winning.  Did I ever tell you that my brother, Vili, died the day before the treaty was signed, sick and stubborn in an army hospital because he would not allow himself to be sent home before his men got to safety?  He was a good man, Vili. 

“So when I went through that temple, and heard you, a cry amidst the darkness, a life amongst all the death I had been dealt and dealt myself to others, I knew I could not leave you.  I knew I had to hold onto you and hope that cultivating one life might absolve me, even in the tiniest fraction, of the carnage I had built as my legacy.

“So I took you home and gave you to your mother and, again, my pride undermined me.  For I was king.  And kings did not take orphans into their home when they were overwhelmed with grief and guilt for a war they wished they had averted.  No, kings never felt overwhelmed at all. 

“Kings could, however, use their children as pawns,” Odin said, a spark of self-loathing entering his voice.  “They could threaten to ruin their child to ruin another.  But they could never admit a weakness.

 “So I wrote Laufey those letters and told myself I was being a good king by using a child to blackmail a man into supporting me.  Not that it worked for very long.”

Odin paused a moment, taking a drink of his tea. 

Loki licked his lips.  “So it was guilt,” he said, refusing to let himself feel anything about it.  “You took me out of guilt.”

Odin’s look was mournful.  “Yes,” he said.  “At first, certainly.  I was almost frightened of you at first.” 

Loki huffed in disbelief and Odin smiled.  “Unbelievable, I know.  The great Odin-King, warrior of Asgard, and defeater of Jotun frightened of a mere babe?  Laughable.  And yet, I could barely look you in the eyes knowing that I was using you, that I was quite likely indirectly responsible for your mother’s death, and that I was raising you like I had never done anything to hurt you.

“Your mother, of course, put a stop to that after a liberal mourning period.  I remember her lifting you from your cot and pressing you into my arms and it was either hold you or drop you.  And you looked up with me with nothing but trust in your eyes, and you smiled when I held you close to my chest.

“And it was as if some wound in me was suddenly clotted and the blood stopped flowing.  Because you were safe and warm and there was something right in the world because of that.”

Odin reached out and rested his hand on the back of Loki’s neck again, the same comforting gesture from his childhood.  “I will not lie to you, not after all this time.  The first time I picked you up, in that temple in Germany, it was guilt that motivated me.  But never doubt that the second time I held you, it was with the love of a father for a son.”

Loki took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes on the floor.  “And then?”

Odin patted Loki’s neck once before sitting back, letting his arm fall.  “And then you grew.  And you grew so well.”  A note of pride seemed to enter Odin’s voice.  “You were so clever, always surprising your tutors and outshining everyone else.  And when you went off to school, the professors only had wonderful things to say about you. 

“And I suppose my pride grew.  You were so wonderful, and I could see it, so I supposed everyone must.  I supposed you must be aware of it, too.  And I supposed you did not need me to tell you how proud I was.  I supposed it was obvious.

“And then you came back from university, and you looked happy in a way I had not seen in years.  And I told myself it was only because it was your first bid at freedom, and that you would grow tired of it and return home and everything would be fine. 

“When you told me you were going to stay at university that day,” Odin paused, visibly collecting himself.  “I thought it was an act of youthful rebellion.  And I dismissed it as such, without even thinking, considering you might have your reasons for wanting to live outside of Asgard.

“And when you—“ Odin broke off.  His head was tilted down, but Loki could catch the shine in his eyes.  He cleared his throat.  “And when we thought you had died, I—

“It was as if I had saved you at birth only to drive you to kill yourself two decades later.  I wondered if it would have been better if I had just taken you to an orphanage and let someone less affected by the war to care for you.   Someone who did not allow their pride to tear their family apart.”

Odin paused a long time, staring at the bottom of his empty mug.  Finally, he continued. 

“And then, I got the wire from the Gestapo.  And I was so happy to know you were alive and so angry that you had left and did not tell us, and so, _so_ angry that they had the gall to lay hands on my son. 

“And I told myself that this time, _this time_ I would not let my damned pride get in the way of it.  And I told myself that anything they asked they could have, because I had already wounded you far beyond repair, and I would not allow it to go further.

“So I sent off the tesseract and was assured you were safe as I could get you.”

Loki couldn’t find it within himself to raise his eyes and look at Odin.  He was not sure he would like what he saw if he did.  “Why did you not tell me this earlier, then?” He asked his hands.

Odin sighed.  Loki could hear the sadness in it.  The regret.  “I suppose I thought that every one of my interventions into your life seemed to hurt you.  I thought perhaps it would be better for you if I were to just stay away.”

“And that changed?” Loki asked, finally looking up. 

The corner of Odin’s mouth quirked up.  “Your mother, as she always seems to, was quite adamant I face the issue at hand, rather than ignoring it and hoping it works out for the best.”

Loki felt his own mouth twitch at that.  “She is rather unyielding.”

Odin’s smile stretched.  “She is indeed.  I understand you married someone of equal reputation?”

Loki smiled and allowed himself to be drawn into speaking about Sif and Helen, and then about his job teaching at the university and living in the United States in general. 

He was just wrapping up a story explaining the confusion he’d felt when his students first explained the odd rumors going around about him—he was either a lost Russian prince or a British war hero depending on who you believed—when a glance out the window reminded him that it was nearing dawn. 

“Would you,” he asked, hesitating only a second.  “Would you like to stay until morning, All-father?”

Odin smiled, but shook his head. “I will find someplace else to stay, I think.  I should be moving on in the morning.”

Loki nodded, feeling strangely bereft that his foster-father was leaving.  Odin seemed to sense it, because he wrapped Loki in another of those painfully gentle embraces. 

“I do not expect you to forgive me,” he murmured into Loki’s hair.  “But never doubt that I love you.”

Loki nodded into his Odin’s shoulder, embracing him in return.  “You as well, father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
